


this is a gift, it comes with a price

by AlexSeanchai (EllieMurasaki)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dissociation, Episode: s02 Mayura (Heroes' Day Part 2), F/M, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, Trans Mylène Haprèle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/pseuds/AlexSeanchai
Summary: "All right, kids," snarls Hawkmoth, "watch what a man who's got nothing to lose can do!"He fights like it, Chat observes, reckless and risky, and Ladybug and Chat areluckyhe hasn't come out personally before: they might have Cataclysm in reserve but they're exhausted and he's taken themdown—Carapace's flung shield knocks Hawkmoth off his feet. Queen Bee tangles her top around his ankle. Rena Rouge flashes past him, snatching the brooch from his throat. His transformation falls before he hits the platform.Queen Bee shrieks, "Agreste?"Chat blinks.





	this is a gift, it comes with a price

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alyndra for betaing :)

Chat Noir slams Hawkmoth's cane over his knee, breaking it with a satisfying _snap_. Hawkmoth's scarlet suit melts into a purple and silver one, and Chat notes how similar it is to an akuma being cleansed. And how dissimilar: Hawkmoth obviously remembers.

"All right, kids," snarls Hawkmoth, "watch what a man who's got nothing to lose can do!"

He fights like it, Chat observes, reckless and risky, and Ladybug and Chat are _lucky_ he hasn't come out personally before: they might have Cataclysm in reserve but they're exhausted and he's taken them _down_ —

Carapace's flung shield knocks Hawkmoth off his feet. Queen Bee tangles her top around his ankle. Rena Rouge flashes past him, snatching the brooch from his throat. His transformation falls before he hits the platform.

Queen Bee shrieks, " _Agreste_?"

Chat blinks.

"Chat, _stop_!" shouts Ladybug: Chat screeches to a halt, pinning his prey down, Cataclysm humming in his hand a palm's width from—Hawkmoth's—heart.

He doesn't remember summoning his power.

Ladybug picks herself up and comes to stand beside Chat, to stand over—Hawkmoth. Chat can't get a good read on her without taking his eyes off—Hawkmoth—but she's found a second wind somewhere; she's sparking with fury.

"You said you have _nothing to lose_ ," Ladybug repeats, low and vicious and trembling with the fear she's trying desperately not to let—Hawkmoth—see. "What happened to Adrien?"

Rena gasps. Queen Bee makes a sound like an angry beehive. Carapace whispers, "Fuck."

"My son—" says—Hawkmoth— (and never has that sounded more like _my shoe_ ) "—my son will thank me."

He is as sincere as Chat has ever seen him.

"Bullshit," snaps Ladybug. "Queen Bee, Venom. Chat—"

She doesn't need to say _hit something else_. Where did he drop the halves of—

—He's in the air: —Hawkmoth—is lunging for Ladybug with a purple-glowing hand—

Gabriel Agreste is dissolving into black motes on the breeze.

Chat blinks.

He's racing after his Lady, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease. She keeps flicking desperate half-glances over her shoulder. His Miraculous beeps a one-minute warning.

Ladybug drops into an alley and Chat follows. She snatches his hand and leads him through the maze that hides among Paris's streets, facing away from the polished storefronts. His transformation falls, his speed falters; she pulls him behind a dumpster smelling powerfully of tuna and _stops_ so sharply he slams into her back.

He wraps his arms around her, his dead weight sending them to their knees. He can't tell if the jackhammering to his chest is her heartbeat or his.

"What _was_ that, Chat?" Ladybug demands. "You saw his face and you _lost_ it!"

He tries to reply but there's no air in his lungs.

"Chat. Answer me."

The world is going dark around the edges. He can't breathe.

"Kid, c'mon, talk to me—"

"—Chat? Chat!"

" _Breathe_ , kid, _in_ , two, three, four, _hold_ , two, three, four, _out_ , two, three, four, _in_ " and now Plagg's just repeating himself. He stops listening. Her burnt sugar cookie scent is oxygen, her grip on his hands a life raft.

"My Lady," he says when he can force words from his throat again, and immediately regrets it. A man is dead at his hands. He no longer has that right.

"Back with me, Chaton?" she asks, and all he can read in her tone is worry. Surely for the boy on the billboards. Since, after all, she just watched him slaughter the boy's father.

He needs to answer her somehow. He squeezes her hand.

…He should probably let go of her altogether. Let her go altogether.

He can't bear to lose her too. He _deserves_ to, but—he's not that strong.

"Tell me what happened," Ladybug says.

He starts to. Stops. Opens his mouth. Closes it. He's going to lose her the minute she gets it and he is _not that strong_ —

"Kid," says Plagg, more gently than he's ever heard him. "You did nothing wrong."

"Bullshit!"

He can't get his Miraculous off his finger. Her hands are in the way.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Ladybug tells him.

He snorts.

"Chat, do you trust me?"

How can she even _ask_ that? He can't answer. He makes himself go completely still. Tension wracks his body. He forces himself to relax, to go limp and unmoving against her.

"If you trust me," she says, "you need to do two things for me. Okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "'Course."

"Okay. The first thing is, _keep this on_." She's tangled her fingers in his, and she presses them together, drawing his attention to his—the—ring.

" _Ladybug_ ," he pleads, tensing.

"Chat Noir." That's a command.

He compels himself to _relax_.

She takes that, he thinks, hopes, as compliance. "The second thing is, _tell me what happened_."

—He can't. "I can't," he says. "I—"

A thought strikes him.

"Plagg," he snaps. "Did you know?"

"I suspected," Plagg admits softly. "But so did you two. I swear, kid, I swear on Tikki's life _I didn't know_."

"Chat," says Ladybug.

He shakes his head; pressed as it is against her neck, she has to feel it. "I can't explain. I can't. You need to know but I _can't_." There is no way out of this that doesn't involve unmasking him anyway. Not that he was ever _getting_ out of this but _she doesn't want to know_.

Actually, you know what, fuck that. Two can play this game. "If you trust me," he says, and he doesn't know why she _would_ but— "If you trust me, turn around."

"Chat—"

And the rest of the sentence is going to be some utter bullshit about secrecy and safety and _fuck that_ so he interrupts, "You need to know. Turn around."

"Chaton—"

"You'll understand, I promise," he says, and he can hear the desperation and the desolation in his own voice. " _Don't_ return the favor but I need you to know. _Turn around._ "

Ladybug whispers, "All right."

It takes a few moments to unknot themselves enough that she can turn to see him. He watches the play of her thigh muscles shift her spots around. When she lifts his chin, he closes his eyes.

"Oh," she says, so terribly sad. He's always had exactly two reasons for not unmasking in front of her and one is her and Plagg's request. This is the other. "Oh, of course it's you. Who else could you be?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, Chaton." Ladybug pauses, snorts, almost amused. "No wonder you jumped off the Montparnasse."

"You said," he reminds her.

"Yeah." He feels the warmth of her palm gentle on his cheek. "For what it's worth, I meant to be right behind you."

He doesn't say anything to that.

"Okay, Adrien," she says, and he startles at the hiss of an angry cat. "Adrien?" she repeats, bewildered, and—oh, _he's_ making that noise. He should…probably not that. "Chaton?" she tries, and that's silence, that _isn't_ the sound of a blade to his heart.

He can…he can deal with that.

"Chaton, they'll be looking for you," says Ladybug gently. "Leather-you needs to stay out of sight, but cotton-you should put in an appearance. Your friends need to know you're still alive."

He is…not convinced of the truth of _any_ of that.

He lets her pull him to his feet anyway. She wraps an arm around his waist so he won't run. Not that he would. And she walks him through the streets of Paris until they're intercepted by a police car.

He doesn't really hear anything Ladybug tells the police officer. A paramedic pulls him away from her and sits him down, drapes a blanket around his shoulders, tries to get him to drink some water. He stares through the bottle at the distorted image of his ring.

"Am I free to go?" Ladybug says sharply, and he lifts his head.

The police officer says, "We need you and your compatriots to answer a few questions—"

"Look," snaps Ladybug, "my _partner_ —who I remind you has repeatedly risked his life for the people of Paris—is somewhere in this city, definitely emotionally compromised, possibly _suicidal_. If I lose him because I did not find him fast enough because you insisted I stay to satisfy your _curiosity_ , I will make you _regret it_. Now. _Am I free to go?_ "

He doesn't hear the officer's answer.

He finds himself pulling out his phone, unlocking it, handing it to her; Ladybug must have asked him to, because her fingertip on the phone screen is swift and sure. "If you need anything," she tells him, "anything at all, let me know."

He takes his phone from her hand.

"Take care of yourself," she adds.

He watches her vanish over the nearest rooftop. Keeps watching the spot until the vehicle they put him in turns a corner. A flood of ladybugs swarm for the Eiffel Tower. The police comm channel gets talkative. Goes quiet.

The police officer takes his phone from him. He thinks about fighting, about protesting, but it's really not worth the trouble. He's lost everything else, or he will when the dust settles. Why worry about his phone?

He blinks.

There's a plate of food in front of him. There are people at the small dining table with him. He doesn't recognize them. Doesn't recognize _here_. He shoves himself up and away. Heaves over the kitchen sink. Not much comes up. He supposes he missed lunch.

"Adrien?" asks the host family's mother.

"Shut _up_!" he snarls.

That's rude. Out of line. Unbecoming of his—of his—of the son of—

Ladybug told him to take care of himself and right now that probably means not angering the people who are trying to feed him and make sure he sleeps tonight. "Sorry," he mutters. "I—"

There is absolutely no way he will be able to eat right now.

"Um," he says. "Toothbrush?"

The mother shows him to the bathroom and digs out an unopened three-pack of toothbrushes. He takes the red one. Scrubs the taste of despair from his teeth. Pity he can't do anything about the blood on his hands. As long as he's in there, he takes a piss, washes his hands again, and thumps himself down onto the toilet lid.

At some point his phone ended up back in his pocket. It's on silent. He missed a million texts. A thousand calls. None are from Nathalie.

Ladybug took his phone. She told him to let her know. He thumbs open his contacts. _Justin Case_ —that's new. Clever. The number belongs to Nino's favorite pizza place.

He recognizes all the other names. Friends, classmates, fellow models, various and sundry minders. Nathalie. Gorilla. His—his—

—Hawkmoth, under his wallet name.

Ladybug told him to let her know. The only way he actually has of contacting her that he otherwise knows of is his baton, and she told leather-him (ha, cute, he has to remember that one) to keep out of sight, and it was cotton-him who was listening when she said to let her know. And the police and the paramedic. She wouldn't have given an instruction she didn't trust he would follow. Could follow. She's devious. Creative. Crazy awesome.

He doesn't think she would have altered an existing contact. Or, well, she might, but she would give him some clue of _which_ , and he is pretty sure she did not.

He scrolls up and down through the list.

Wait.

He recognizes all the _names_.

He doesn't recognize all the _contacts_.

He taps the one that's new. Opens his texting app.

> _Adrien:_ hey

—Then he goes to change his own contact name because _fuck that_.

Her reply is almost instant.

> _Marinette:_ hey tiger

Tiger. He likes that.

> _Tiger:_ can I bug you a moment?

Totally innocent. Nothing to see here.

> _Marinette:_ anytime

> _Marinette:_ ALYA SCAT

Pay no attention to the bug behind the curtain.

> _Marinette:_ you can come over if you want, bakery's still here. so is half the class though.

…Oh.

He isn't sure he can deal with half the class. He isn't sure he can deal with any fraction of the class. He—

The first akumatization. Stoneheart. The very first one. It was the day before he started school. The day he first _tried_ to start school.

Everyone in his class has been akumatized. Everyone but two.

> _Tiger:_ do they know what happened?

> _Marinette:_ we're piecing it together.

> _Marinette:_ everybody's worried about you. you don't have to or anything but we'd kind of like to see you alive and in person.

> _Marinette:_ if your temp guardians will let you come.

Please, like he's needed anyone's permission or protection in years. He's Chat fucking—

He's—

> _Tiger:_ catch you soon, then

He can't quite bring himself to put on the mask. Leather-him is supposed to stay out of sight anyway.

He asks the current minders where he's sleeping. His school bag's already in that bedroom, and someone's bought him clothes. They don't fit half badly. His school bag always has some cash and some cosmetics, _always_. He fixes his face. Drags his hands through his hair. Sneaks out the window. (It's only the second floor. He knows how to fall.) Catches the subway.

Knocks on the Dupain-Chengs' door.

Marinette flings it open. She looks—worn. Shadowed. Weighted down. It lifts when she realizes who's here. Like seeing him buoys her. Like sunlight breaking storm clouds.

She's beautiful. How has he never—

He has no right.

"Hey," she says.

He tries to smile.

She reaches for his hand. The right one, where the ring—against his better judgment—still rests. He doesn't try to stop her. She takes his hand. Pulls him inside and closes the door. Turns to the roomful of chattering classmates. "Hey!" she shouts. Silence falls. He's the center of attention. With obviously faux cheer, she says, "Look what the cat dragged in!"

"Adrien!" shouts Alix, and "Adrikins!" squeals Chloé, and "Adrien!" exclaim Mylène and Ivan and Kim, and he's hissing again and Marinette has dropped his hand to shush them. It—felt good, holding her hand; so much for that.

He should…something. "Don't call me that," he says. It sounds too sharp.

Marinette's looking at him again. "What should we call you?" she asks quietly.

He doesn't have an answer for that. "Anything else."

She nods. "Sure thing, tiger."

Somebody snickers. He ignores them.

"Ad—" Chloé chokes to a stop. "Why?"

He _really_ doesn't have an answer for that.

Marinette's attention snaps to her. "Hey, Chloé," she says, low and vicious, but there's nothing of the ferocity her voice had when—on the Eiffel. "Nice name. Did your _maman_ pick it out for you?"

Mylène, who _did_ choose her own name, starts giggling helplessly. Ivan roars with laughter.

Chloé flinches. Rallies to counterattack. And—

—stills. "Oh," she says. "Sorry."

Nino scoops up Alya from beside him on the sofa and plops her on his lap. "Dude," he says, "come sit down."

"Let me get you something to drink," Marinette says. "What would you like?"

He shrugs. He's okay with nothing, but he'll take whatever Marinette offers. He'll sit down next to Nino and Alya, but only because Marinette looks like she wants him to.

She pauses halfway through pouring a can of soda into a glass of ice. "—Have you eaten since breakfast?"

He doesn't actually know. Certainly he hasn't since he emptied his stomach last. "Not effectively."

A plateful of bread, undoubtedly fresh from the bakery that day, appears in his lap, each slice lightly slathered with raspberry jam. (Something Ladybug knew about leather-him. Not, he thinks, something Marinette knew at all. It is not that he doubts the conclusion he has reached, exactly—) And a glass of ice water. She pats his shoulder. "Eat slowly. I don't want you to get sick. I'm going to make some chicken soup."

He eats. Slowly.

The chatter has picked back up around him. He isn't paying attention until Alix says "Ladybug". The name is in the middle of a sentence and he has no idea what's on either side of it, but.

"I saw the magic ladybugs," he says. "Did anyone—"

He stops. The chicken soup smells delicious: he can pick out the aromas of onion and garlic, rosemary and thyme.

Marinette comes over. Takes his hand. (He doesn't deserve—) "If you're asking if it's possible to give him an open-casket funeral," she says, "that can be arranged."

He glances toward Kim. She isn't here but it's always easiest to find Ondine by looking next to Kim. He remembers swimming past sixth-floor windows. Once the larynx loses the battle to keep water out of the lungs, anoxia starts to set in within thirty seconds. Freshly drowned bodies sink. He remembers thinking it would be too much for his partner to put to rights. Remembers realizing his—his—remembers realizing that would make him the sole heir to the, the, _his_ fortune. He was running numbers in the back of his mind throughout the battle: his inheritance would have been seriously drop-in-a-bucket given the sheer _volume_ of the damage to Paris, but most of that money was zeroes and ones elsewhere. It couldn't be washed away. He would have _helped_.

No one died because of Syren.

His Lady—

What is he going to do with the blood money?

Glass shatters. He reaches for the drink she got him and it's not there.

"Please don't do that again," Marinette says. He mumbles an apology. M. Dupain fetches a towel and a dustpan.

Marinette sighs. "Listen, tiger, if you need something, I need you to ask for it. If you even want something, I need you to ask for it."

He deserves _none_ of her kindness. "A date with Ladybug," he says.

"Done!" she answers brightly. "I'll tell her to check her calendar."

That's a first. "I don't need pity."

"This isn't pity," she retorts. "Do you have any idea how terrified we are right now?" _Of you,_ she doesn't say. "If my going out and begging Ladybug on bended knee to take you out to dinner is what it takes to get your attention, then that is exactly what I'm going to do."

He catches the glances his classmates give each other. He doesn't know how to read them. "Like she'd agree."

Marinette rolls her eyes like _he's_ the obtuse one here. "I have seen the photos of the day you jumped off the Montparnasse. Ladybug was blushing just as hard as you were."

She might as well be telling him circumference is two tau _r_. Velocity is the cube root of acceleration. The speed of light is no more than a good idea. Miraculouses do bizarre things to the parameters of reality, but not _that_ bizarre.

Alya, always a diehard Ladynoir shipper, raises a protest. Alix presents a vehement counterargument to the protest, ending "In this essay, I _will_." Mylène sides with Alya. He tunes out. Gets out his phone. Contemplates the text conversation with the contact named _Marinette Dupain-Cheng_.

His phone starts ringing. Still on silent; unknown number. It stops. The same number texts. A minder—the temp guardian mother. His absence has been noted; where is he?

> _Tiger:_ I'm fine

The same number calls. He answers.

"Adrien—"

"That's not my name!" he shouts.

The mother sighs, put-upon. "Young man," she corrects, and tries to persuade him to share his location, so someone can come fetch him back to where they know he's safe and sound. He could answer. He doesn't.

Marinette plucks the phone from his hand. "Do you lot realize he's blaming himself?" she demands of the caller. He flinches. "The _day_ he was supposed to start at our school is the day Hawkmoth first struck. Hawkmoth's first akuma victim sits two rows behind him in homeroom. _Every single person in our homeroom_ has been akumatized, _including_ our teacher. _Except him_. His father was _furious_ about the whole school thing. _His father is Hawkmoth_. Do the _math_."

He's seen her this passionate before. Not often in his defense.

"He is going to stay right here, perfectly safe, with people who _get it_ and who _love him_. Good _bye_."

She slams the end call button and wings the phone across the room, breathing hard. Its screen cracks on impact.

In a small voice, she says, "Oops."

Alya blinks at Marinette. "When did _you_ get hit?"

Marinette flushes. "Never you mind."

He laughs.

He keeps laughing.

He can't _stop_ laughing.

Marinette perches on the arm of the sofa beside him. Her fingers beat tattoos on the back of his hand.

There's a knock on the door. Mme. Cheng answers. "May I help you?"

"Marinette," says a way too fucking familiar voice. His head and Marinette's snap around in unison. Master Fu continues, "Ad—"

" _Hssssst-t-t-t-t!_ "

That's actually Marinette.

He clears his throat; Master Fu looks at him solemnly. He mutters, " _He_ gave me that name."

Master Fu nods in understanding. His gaze skims the room, focuses on the two of them. "You should come by soon," he says. "Young Guardians."

The noise Marinette makes is positively inhuman. She launches herself for the door. Shrieks at the empty stairway. Comes back five minutes later in a temper. "Are you _hearing this_?" she demands of him.

There are several possible questions she could be asking there. "Can we toss him off a roof?" he asks idly, which addresses none of them.

Marinette snorts. "He's a hundred and some. That's mean."

"Yes, well, given all the shit he's pulled on you—"

"On _me_?" screeches Marinette, and suddenly realizes everyone is staring. She straightens her spine, puts on a _killer_ pok—a _supurrb_ —she must be _really good at poker_ , okay—and pretends there is nothing at all out of the ordinary.

He exhales. "Can it be a tomorrow problem?"

She lets herself ease up. "Sure thing, tiger." She pauses. Glances at Chloé, who is still wearing the Bee Miraculous in her hair, and at Nino and Alya, also sporting suspiciously familiar new jewelry, though Alya is at least trying to hide hers behind her buttoned-up flannel. He wonders where the Butterfly Miraculous went. "Next week, maybe."

He doesn't bother to answer that. He wants this ring off his finger _yesterday_.

He'd known Marinette wasn't Ladybug because he'd seen them together. He hadn't thought too hard about how he'd also seen two Timebreakers, or subsequently seen two Ladybugs and no Marinettes. Nor about how he had seen two Ladybugs and no additional selves. (His gaze does not drift to Alix.)

"Can we talk about something else?" He includes the whole room in this.

Ivan launches into a series of complaints about the creative process behind his latest song. Half the room gets into it. He doesn't pay any attention himself, but at least they've stopped _staring_.

Marinette brings him a bowl of chicken soup and a chunk of baguette, shreds some cheddar over the bowl and sets down the small remainder of the block where he can casually sneak it into his jacket. He eats. Slowly.

…He does have to admit it's delicious.

Marinette's parents end up feeding everyone. Nino smacks his lips exaggeratedly when he's done eating. "Man, I wish you were _my_ parents," he tells M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng. "I'd eat like a _king_. Every day."

"Saaaay," says Alya, grinning at him; he recognizes an Alya-and-Nino double-team coming when he sees one. " _Somebody_ never eats enough. _Somebody_ really likes the food here. And _somebody_ —" Five separate classmates are trying to signal Alya to shut up. "—is in the market for new parents!"

" _Alya there are laws about fucking your brother!_ "

He stares at Marinette. Everyone stares at Marinette. Ladybug's suit is redder than Marinette's face, but not by much.

…He really doesn't want to know what _his_ face looks like right now.

Marinette hides behind her hands.

He can't actually tear his gaze away from her, but absolutely nobody in his field of view seems surprised. Amused, perhaps. Embarrassed on her behalf. Startled at the form of her outburst, maybe. Not surprised by its content. Not even interested enough to keep their attention on her, or on him.

Nope, fuck that, he is _not_ dealing with this right now. Rain check for a week from _never_. "Sorry, princess, did you say something?"

She peeks between her fingers, still furiously red but he _knows_ that slant of her eyebrow. She's _relieved_.

"What do you get when you cross a thought with a light bulb?" Marinette starts babbling rapid-fire, letting her hands fall. "A bright idea! How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb? How many can you afford? How many actors does it take to change a light bulb? One—he puts it in and the world revolves—"

His fingers are on her lips. She shuts up.

"I know what you're doing," he tells her.

That angle to her lip generally accompanies Ladybug thinking her partner's taking one too many ill-thought-out risks again. (This is and remains an entirely bullshit line of thought. He's _supposed_ to take one for the team. That's his _job_.) She asks, "Is it working?"

"No."

She blows a raspberry against his fingers. It's quintessential Ladybug-indulges-Chat-Noir's-flirting, and it's adorable.

"I still know what you're doing," he tells her.

She snorts. "Is it working now?"

He doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. "No comment, no further questions."

"That's what I thought."

He wants to hold her so badly.

—She _did_ tell him to ask.

"…Can I get a hug?"

Marinette slides right into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. He draws the first full breath he's taken since he saw the news clip of akumatized-illusion-Ladybug forcing illusion-himself to self-destruct. She murmurs, "I was wondering when you'd think of that."

He lowers his voice; he doesn't even want Nino and Alya to overhear. "Did we do the right thing?"

"Am I supposed to know the answer to that?" she asks, no louder than he was.

He twitches, shrug-like. "North on my moral compass is you."

"We need to talk about all this tomorrow, us and—uh—well," Marinette tells him. "But—yeah, I think we did."

He remembers Plagg saying _you did nothing wrong_. Remembers Ladybug saying _repeatedly risked his life for the people of Paris_ , and why. Remembers telling Hawkmoth that whatever the man could be wishing for must be evil. _Must_ be, given everything the man was willing to do in order to gain the power to grant that wish.

He is curious why the man thought his son would _thank_ him for it, but he does occasionally pay attention to where curiosity gets cats.

Hawkmoth is dead. Ladybug could not revive him. Gabriel Agreste's son reportedly bears no blame. Marinette had nothing to do with this whatsoever. Even Chat Noir may not be getting in any trouble for the man's death.

He is watching the prison bars of his life dissolve at his touch to black motes on the breeze, and he is doing it while the love of his life is content in his embrace, with her ear pressed to his heart.

—He is _never_ this lucky.

He pinches his arm. Ouch.

"It's real," Marinette says dryly. "Believe me, that crossed my mind."

A thought strikes him.

"Hey," he tells her. "Sit up a minute. Look at me."

She does, blinking at him confusedly. He offers her his hand, as though to shake. "Hi," he says. "My name's Félix."

It only takes half a moment before comprehension dawns. "I'm pleased to meet you, Félix," she says, loudly enough to draw everyone's attention. "I'm Marinette." She takes his hand. Her thumb presses against his Miraculous. (He would have missed Plagg, anyway.)

Félix shifts his grip to drop a kiss on the back of her hand. It's cotton-him right now, but he is _entirely_ Chat Noir. "Enchanté, my Lady."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Dreamwidth](https://alexseanchai.dreamwidth.org/) and [Tumblr](http://alexseanchai.tumblr.com/).


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